


Turn Out the Lights

by orphan_account



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Butch/Femme, F/F, Fluff and Angst, Found Family, Gender Exploration, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Internalized Homophobia, Lots of traumatized people learning to heal, Nonbinary Character, Slow Burn, Suicidal Ideation, Trans Female Character, but also lots of heavy stuff cuz they're all traumatized, past trauma
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-17
Updated: 2020-08-27
Packaged: 2021-03-04 23:42:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,301
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25324834
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Dorothea Arnault thought she had her happy ending, but fantasies aren't all their cracked up to be. Upon returning home, she faces the daunting task of reorienting a life of her own, reconnecting with neglected friendships, and facing down old trauma.Ingrid Galatea has finally escaped a life of suffocating expectations, but with the whole world of opportunities open to her, change becomes just as terrifying as stagnation. Old questions come up with no easy answers, and long repressed grief and shame bubbles to the surface.But when the lights go out, a clarity emerges, and all one has to do is relinquish the fear of the dark.
Relationships: Caspar von Bergliez/Linhardt von Hevring, Dorothea Arnault/Ingrid Brandl Galatea, Felix Hugo Fraldarius/Sylvain Jose Gautier, Manuela Casagranda/Judith von Daphnel, Marianne von Edmund/Hilda Valentine Goneril, Petra Macneary/Bernadetta von Varley
Comments: 4
Kudos: 29





	1. Dead Dreams

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dorothea follows through on a painful choice.

Dorothea clicked her last suitcase shut, the metallic _clack_ of the clasps snapping together ringing throughout the apartment. She almost jumped at the sound as it pierced the heavy silence that clung to every room. As fast as it had been broken, however, that horrible quiet creeped back in. The only other sounds were the occasional sighs from Edelgard as she busied herself cleaning some bit of counter or appliance that had been spotless before she’d touched them. 

It was unbearable, an assault on the senses simply for its lack of stimuli. It had filled the last month of Dorothea’s life full to the brim and past it, and she wasn’t going to suffer it for a single day more. 

No more tense nights sleeping in different rooms, eating in different rooms. No more awkward encounters in the middle of the night when they both knew the other couldn’t sleep. No more attempts at the slightest conversation that would only devolve in fighting, the only thing worse than the silence. 

No more of the looks Edelgard would give her when she thought Dorothea couldn’t see. A gaze that was such an infuriatingly enigma. Was it regret? Anger? Indifference? She couldn’t tell, and in the absence of any certainty she filled in the gaps with the only logical conclusion: it was disappointment. 

Dorothea had her fairytale ending. Through all the trials and trauma of her life she had fought and persevered and then fell in glorious operatic love with a dashing lady who whisked her away from the bustling city of Enbarr to the scenic near-pastoral calm of Arvindur. Then, something fractured, and festered, and grew to overtake everything. Even now, she failed to adequately explain what felt so _wrong_ between them. 

There were always problems, of course. Edelgard was rich, and although she was kind and generous with her independent wealth, she knew nothing of the life Dorothea had lived. Edelgard had never been hungry a day in her life, never cold and lost in the streets of an uncaring city. She was considerate, thoughtful of her privilege, but also offered to throw money at almost all of Dorothea’s problems. 

Initially, that had been part of the allure, the gallant knight saving her from the fear of destitution that had followed her all her life, but the image grew sour on her tongue fast. Now it only made her feel all the lesser, the poor pitiable wretch of a lover who received accusatory glances wherever the two went. Like all of Arvindur could smell the stench of poverty on her, could sense how unlike them she was. 

The _other,_ dragged in like the “gifts” of an overenthusiastic cat.

And yet, despite all the fighting, the alienation, the silence, it hurt to leave it. Worse than admitting defeat, it was admitting unworthiness. Packing up her belongings felt like pulling the thread out of a fresh suture. 

Nevertheless, with numb fingers, she pulled. 

“That’s it.” She said. Her voice came out unsteady, so unused to speaking over the last month, and she silently cursed it for that. 

Edelgard snapped to attention, dropping the cloth at the counter of the kitchenette and moving to the main hall. 

“Alright.” Edelgard said. She surveyed the wall of boxes by the door. “I’ll get the rest to you by the end of the week, hopefully. Manuela’s right?” 

Dorothea nodded. _That_ was its own bridge she dreaded crossing. Her adoptive… guardian, would have a million questions when she returned to their former home. She had managed to dodge them so far, but once in the same room there’d be no escape from even the best intentioned prodding. 

Even so, she reminded herself that it was still better than staying by the corpse of a relationship here. 

She pulled out her phone to check the time, “Cab should be here in ten.” 

“How much-”

“Stop.” Dorothea snapped, more exhausted than angry. Of course she would offer to pay. She sighed, “Edie, please don’t.” 

Edelgard was silent for a moment, arms folded and wearing that indecipherable expression. Dorothea suppressed the urge to shrink under it, even though she could hardly call it hostile. Then she spoke, her usual regal tone reduced to a resignation that struck Dorothea with guilt. 

“Alright. I’ll…” Edelgard dropped her gaze, considering her words. “I’ll be here, if you ever need anything.” 

Dorothea nodded, and cursed herself as her nose began to sting and tears began to prick at the corners of her eyes. 

“Have a safe trip.” Was all she said, before Edelgard left the entryway, leaving Dorothea alone. 

She felt every footfall before she heard the door shut at the end of the hall. And then she was well and truly alone in what was their apartment, bathed in the orange glow of the evening. 

For a moment, she dared to turn and look on her soon-to-be-former home, at their couch where they would spend long nights lost in whatever show caught too much of their fancy. At their cute little kitchenette, just small enough to always be bumping into each other while cooking together. At their floor to ceiling windows, curtains thrown open to witness the horizon cresting over a seemingly endless expanse of green, tapering off only as it flowed into the hills to the east. 

In each place she could see her and Edelgard, sometimes pressed against one another in the throes of love to big to hold within oneself, sometimes side by side, leaning on one another with quiet affection, sometimes only extant in adjacency, happy to be near the other as they went about their day in silent companionship. 

She was tearing it all apart, because she was unfit for it. Unfit for what she thought was her happy ending.

Dorothea turned away, unable to bear the sight any longer, and grabbed the few bags she could take on that first trip. Two suitcases, one in each had, a backpack with a few amenities, and her purse that she had stuffed as full as she could. Then she pulled the door to their apartment open, walked through the threshold, leaving their apartment, her life with Edelgard, her girlish fantasy, all behind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this first one is a bit of a bummer! I promise I'm not like anti Edelthea or anything!


	2. Almost Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dorothea ruminates as she returns to Enbarr and reunites with Manuela.

After standing in the entryway of her apartment for what felt like eons, the movement of leaving made her almost sick. She practically ran down the stairs of the building, as if all that could keep her going was the inertia from her first step. She was almost out of breath when she got in the cab, and even then it seemed like the car was absolutely bolting from Arvindur. 

The posh little town, the semi-pastoral greens, the smattering of people still walking about, all blurred in Dorothea’s eyes. All the vibrant color she’d loved about this place, despite herself, all of it became muted and dulled from the backseat of a cab fleeing it. 

This effect grew as the quiet wealth of Arvindur faded into the next town over, Thrunnir. The warm brick browns fell to strained stone grays, and all the little shops that dotted the landscape burrowed further into their nestled places between the glare of branded signage. It was as if Thrunnir was hanging its head, afraid to look on at its sister town. 

In that moment Dorothea found herself puzzled as to why she could relate so strongly to architecture, but from the backseat of a cab it all seemed to make sense. The weight on her chest changed, not lifted but now more familiar. 

It also helped Thrunnir’s case that it hadn’t yet gentrified bus stops out of its design. Though the stop itself was deeply of its town. It was all curves in its structure to blunt the brutalism of its cheap beige concrete, but all its welcoming posture couldn’t quench the working class ennui that clung to it like grease to the floor and tables of a neglected diner. 

The cab stopped, Dorothea paid the driver, and took her bags in hand as she walked into the building. By now the sun had dipped past the horizon, with only the faintest of glows left illuminating the sky. Between that and the near emptiness of the stop, filled only with three others looking about as happy to be there as Dorothea was, the air grew thick with exhaustion. No one even looked up as she entered, purchased her ticket, and cloistered herself against a wall by the corner. 

* * *

  
The bus itself, when it finally arrived, was as sedate and empty as the stop was. Nevertheless, Dorothea found her hand had settled in her purse, gripping the bottle of pepper spray she always kept there. It wasn’t a habit she’d had to have in quite a while, but the public transport of Enbarr had thoroughly convinced her of its utility. That familiar tension settled into her shoulders, threatening to spread. She fought the urge to stare at each other passenger in turn, with herself coiled to either strike or run should they… try anything. 

It’s a tension she’d prefer not to have floating around her mind, so she digs her phone out as a distraction, only then remembering that she was supposed to text Manuela when she left. Her eyes dart back and forth between the screen and the other passengers, but it's still a welcome distraction for the moment. 

**_Dorothea:_ ** _omw now_

 **_Dorothea:_ ** _should be there by 12ish_

She didn’t have to wait long for a response, almost as soon as she looked away from the screen it buzzed in her hand. 

**_Manuela:_ ** _Alright darling, we’ll be there then_

Dorothea sighed to herself. It wouldn’t be the first time Manuela had doe-eyed some date of hers into doing something for her, but she was hardly in the mood to put up with her taste in men. Or men in general. 

**_Dorothea:_ ** _Do i even want to know who “we” is_

In her mind's eye she conjured up the images of Manuela's worst dates that she’d been exposed to. Mansplaining hipsters to burly men whose only personality trait seemed to be “working out” to the greasy creeps whose eyes never seemed to leave Manuela’s chest. 

These were not the kind of people Dorothea had any energy to deal with on a good day, let alone on one as miserable as this. Again she felt her shoulders tense up tighter, the beginnings of a headache starting at the base of her neck. The next time her phone buzzed it seemed louder against the rumbling of the bus. 

**_Manuela:_ ** _Goddess no! Just a friend from the theater I promise!_

Dorothea resisted the urge to roll her eyes. 

**_Dorothea:_ ** _Uh huh. A friend. I’ve never used that excuse before_

The next few texts came abruptly and in quick succession. Apparently she’d hit a nerve. 

**_Manuela:_ ** _For once in my long life I promise this one is just a platonic friend_

 **_Manuela:_ ** _Besides she can drive_

Dorothea let out an exhale upon reading the _she,_ loosing some of the tension with it. No men then, good. 

* * *

After what could have only been an hour or two, but felt like a solid six, the skyline of Enbarr came into view. The city dipped from great steel skyscrapers to medieval stonework to its truly ancient canals running through the metropolis. It was a true chimera, three era’s of Adrestian history smashed together with no separation between any of them. 

The historical Palace District bumped right up against the infinite sea of glass and opulence of the Lerwall Commerce District, and the archaic architecture of the old holy Indech District smashed into the ever familiar modernism of the Mittelfrank the borough over. 

Dorothea had never considered the city all that strange until she had left and come back. Now, her time in the carefully curated streets of Arvindur left her utterly unprepared for the sheer discordant nature of her once and future home, and the shock of the sight had her holding back a bizarre mixture of a gasp and a laugh. 

Once the bus had entered the city however, the feeling shifted. Under the shadow of the manmade behemoth’s that reached into the air, Dorothea found herself feeling so much less than her twenty three years. 

She _knew_ this city, more than most could, more than anyone should. She knew Enbarr’s teeth, and the spaces between them where once could hide when it bit down. 

She had also strolled through the parts of it that gleamed. The glow of the palace itself, the soaring heights of its rooftop luxuries, all in glimpses afforded to one who could just pass as a glamorous artist, and not… whatever she actually was. She terminated that train of thought quick, the bus was pulling into the station, and Manuela didn’t need to see anything more to concern her. She could always read her too well. 

She lingered a moment to allow the other passengers to leave first, and then carefully extracted herself and her cumbersome load through the aisle to the street, and into the stop itself. It wasn’t too far removed from Thrunnir, but somehow carried both more exhaustion and more grime yet attempted to mask both with even great fervor. 

The interior was more crowded as well, especially as those who had been waiting now sprung to their feet. Amongst the bustle, she found her guardian, with her swept back bob and signature long white cardigan over a deeply low cut shirt. 

Manuela didn’t notice her though, and in fact appeared to be asleep, her head resting on the shoulder of a woman Dorothea didn’t recognize. That woman wore a Mittelfrank Orchestra sweatshirt, a tight high ponytail with her long black hair slung over one shoulder, and an austere expression right up until she made eye contact with Dorothea. She then nudged Manuela, who looked to her compatriot, to Dorothea, and then back to her companion, saying a few words out of Dorothea’s earshot before she popped up from her seat and ran over. 

Before she could even react, Manuela had thrown her arms around Dorothea and was hugging her so tight that the latter woman was almost lifted off the ground by the former. 

The embrace was near suffocating, likely disruptive to the whole rest of the station, and was awkward given the bags Dorothea was carrying, but she couldn’t help but settle into it. The painfully familiar scent of mint and lavender mixed just right with the still balmy summer air of Enbarr. For better or worse, she was home. For a lingering moment, Dorothea could only bask in the comfort, burying her nose in Manuela’s shoulder, but eventually she and her both stepped back. 

“I know it’s a bad time to say it but-” Manuela set a hand on Dorothea’s shoulder, the other coming to cup her cheek, “It’s good to see you darling.” 

“You too, Manuela.” Dorothea’s voice came out faint and cracked. “It’s… It’s good to be back, I think.” 

Manuela’s hands dropped back to her sides and she eyed her with a bittersweet expression. Dorothea dropped her gaze to avoid it. 

“Oh!” Manuela started, and gestured to the woman now standing stiffly beside her, “Where are my manners! This is Judith, she’s our new Orchestra director for the Mittelfrank, and she’s a doll who’s doing me a big favor by driving us tonight.” 

Manuela laid a hand against Judith’s bicep, the other coming to rest on her shoulder. The former woman was looking at the latter with an expression Dorothea wasn’t sure she’d ever seen on her guardian’s face, and couldn’t quite name. 

Judith stood beside her oblivious. She gave Dorothea an awkward wave, her previous austerity replaced wholly with a nervous uncertainty that was almost cute. “Yeah, I’ll get your bags set up and we can be off so you two can get some rest.” 

Dorothea almost made some feeble protest, but the wave of exhaustion that crashed over her at the mention of _rest_ kept her quiet. Judith happily took as many of her bags as she could carry, and the trio made their way from the stop to the lot outside, where a navy blue station wagon was waiting. Manuela took the front seat while Dorothea and most of her bags sat in the back.

Judith and Manuela exchanged some words that Dorothea didn’t bother to try and overhear. Instead she shut her eyes and curled in on herself as much as she could in the cramped space, burrowing her hands into the sleeves of her sweatshirt, and letting her mind drift into the liminal space between waking and sleeping. The glare of Enbarr’s lights glowed like dying embers against her eyelids, burning just enough to keep her from falling completely asleep. 

She didn’t notice when the car stopped however, and started when she felt a hand prodding her knee. On instinct she went to smack the hand away, but stopped when she saw familiar brown eyes looking back at her. 

“We’re here.” Was all Manuela said, before stepping out of the car herself, Judith having apparently already done so. Dorothea threw her backpack back on and stepped out, pulling out one of the suitcases as her feet hit the sidewalk. 

“Here, I can take that for you.” Judith stepped in and offered. Again she began to object, before fatigue kept her silent. Still, she kept her backpack, and pulled out the smaller of her suitcases to carry herself.

The three women made their way into the building, past the lobby, and into the elevator for an uncomfortably silent ride up to the third floor, where Manuela fumbled with the door for a moment before leading them into the apartment she and Dorothea had once shared. 

As far as apartments in this side of the Tairngire borough went, it was a fairly nice place. Two bedrooms, one bathroom, and a sizable enough kitchen and living room. Manuela wasn’t one to redecorate either, so it had hardly changed at all since Dorothea had last been here. Theatre posters covered many of the walls, with various abstract paintings on the rest. 

Every available surface was covered in a mix of scripts, sheet music, and tacky tchotchkes that simply screamed _Manuela._ The same worn maroon armchair and teal couch sat next to one another facing the tv, and to the side of them was the bookcase, intermittently stacked with an unorganized cluster of books and old photos in elaborate frames. 

Judith and Manuela moved into the kitchen, quietly conversing, and Dorothea found her legs guiding her to the bookshelf, dropping her bags on the couch as they did so. Many of the photos were of Manuela and members of the Mittelfrank over the years. Some captured her in costume, a few even on stage, and others showed flocks of theatre youths all crammed into a frame, immortalized smiles on their faces. 

The shelf in the center of the bookshelf, however, almost entirely showed Dorothea’s face back to her. Manuela had put away the truly old pictures a long time ago thankfully, so nothing before her 15th year resided there, but just past that was still enough to be jarring. 

Dorothea’s of all sorts smiled in half dusted frames. There she was in one, smiling with her highschool diploma, next to people she hadn’t talked to in years, then convinced they were inseparable. In another here, she was frozen in laughter with the cast of the first play she starred in. One caught her mid performance, lips parted in silent song, an arm outstretched to another actor unseen. 

At the corner of the shelf, a single frame lay overturned, less dusty than the others. Dorothea looked over her shoulder, to see Manuela still focused on Judith, talking in hushed tones from across their dinner table. Satisfied her curiosity would go unnoticed, Dorothea lifted the frame, and felt her stomach drop. 

It was from her college graduation party. Several friends and colleagues from the Mittelfrank had thrown a truly grand celebration, yet Dorothea had sequestered herself almost entirely to a small corner with a select few college friends she was shown huddled with. 

On her immediate right, practically hiding behind her, was Bernadetta, a gifted artist she’d bonded with over shared… issues. She’d hardly even texted her since moving the Arvindur. To the right of her was Caspar, an infectiously exuberant athlete who could chase any ill mood out of any room he was in. Nestled in to him was Linhardt, an often lethargic genius she nevertheless treasured for his insightfulness. She hadn’t heard anything from them in months. To the far left of the frame was Hilda, another animated personality with a sharp eye for fashion and an even sharper wit, she’d been a huge help in Dorothea gaining the confidence to build her own sense of style. They’d talked once in the last year. 

To her immediate left, with one arm looped gently around her waist, was Edelgard. She’d worn a suit that day, with a shockingly red jacket that made even her short stature stand out in any crowd. She was known for her stoicism, but even on her face she wore a smile bright as any. The Dorothea of then happily leaned into her, blissfully, stupidly, infuriatingly unaware. The Dorothea of now felt the corners of her eyes prick, but couldn’t look away. 

Then, she heard the scrape of chairs against the kitchen floor, and hastily flipped the picture frame back over with an audible _clack._ Judith made her way to the door, with Manuela behind her. The former turned to look and the latter. 

“So I’ll see you at the show then?” She asked, and Manuela nodded.

“Of course! Wouldn’t miss a performance for the world,” She gestured to Dorothea, “We’ll both be there, won’t we?”

Dorothea looked back and forth between the two, apparently having missed something. “Oh- um, absolutely!” She quickly caught herself. If it was Mittelfrank, it’d probably be a worthwhile escape anyway. 

Judith beamed, “Alright then, I’ll see you Saturday then.” She spoke to both of them, but her eyes lingered on Manuela before she walked out, leaving a heavy silence as the door closed behind her. 

Manuela let out a deep sigh, followed by a yawn. She then walked over to Dorothea and held out her arms, which she happily stepped into. They both squeezed each other tight, as if to wring the day from themselves, before parting. 

“Alright, you’d best get some rest Dot, I’ll see you in the morning.” She ran a hand lightly through Dorothea’s curls as she spoke, her thumb tracing a line across her temple. 

Dorothea nodded, picked up the suitcase she had along with her backpack, and rounded the corner to her room. 

“Goodnight!” She called over her shoulder, which Manuela echoed back at her. 

Her room was just as she’d left it, equally covered in posters as the rest of the house, but mostly barred besides, with a gutted bookshelf and empty drawers. Manuela had clearly tried to keep the room clean, but dust still clung to most surfaces. Dorothea couldn’t bring herself to care, however, as she kicked her jeans off and threw herself into her bed. She closed her eyes almost immediately, but the image of herself, smiling in Edelgard Hresvelg’s arms played over and over again against her eyelids, taunting her as sleep just evaded her grasp.


	3. Nerves and Nourishment

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Awkward conversations, with food.

On the first night back, Dorothea slept only until four am. She found herself shocked awake by some gut wrenching collage of her fears that faded faster than she could make sense of, having burned itself past her retinas and into her brain. Then, she stayed perfectly still, and surveyed the alien darkness around her. 

At first, the walls appeared as a familiar phantom of lightly adorned minimalism. Ornate, elegant, and reserved, like the woman who’d decorated them. Then the image faded, as she sat up and drew her knees to her chest, she saw the frayed posters held up by tattered tape, the class photos gathering dust in their frames, and the many, many empty spaces in between them. The room suggested life, hinted at habitation, but was a carcass picked clean, leaving only the bleached bones of its former occupant. 

She stared at those walls until her eyes stung, and upon shutting them, she succumbed to sleep again. 

The second night she managed until six, and the culprit of her early waking didn’t retreat past where her memories could reach. She heard the cracked voice of her mother, felt the unyielding brick of a back alley wall catching her hair in its pores as she hit from the elements, and even as dreaming turned to waking the sense memories ignored those borders. 

Dorothea practically fled her room that night and paced back and forth and back and forth in her kitchen until she collapsed against the corner of the cupboards. She held a hand against her mouth and the other against her chest, sobbing as quietly as she could until exhaustion dragged her back to bed. 

On the third night, she slept until the afternoon, right when the day was just past enough to feel wasted. She rose groggy and uncoordinated, fighting against the warm call of her blankets to just fall back asleep. She almost certainly would have heeded that call if not for the divine smells coming from the kitchen. It was enough to pull her out of bed, have her throw on some clothes, and leave her room. The sight that greeted her then shocked her fully awake. 

Manuela was at the stove, the sleeves of her blouse rolled up as she busied herself over two pans, one full of eggs and the other with veggies. For a minute she just observed the sight, caught up in it’s rarity. Her guardian could cook well enough to get by, but seldom would she do something even this involved, and certainly not in the middle of the afternoon. 

Nevertheless, here she was, giving Dorothea a knowing smirk as she mixed in the veggies and the eggs, adding the last few touches, and placing it onto two plates.

“I thought you were at work?” Dorothea’s finally rasped out, having found her voice. 

Manuela gave an uneven smile. “I make my own hours darling, but that’s not important.” She set the plates on the ends of the table, pulled out a chair and motioned for Dorothea to sit. She complied, but hesitated from picking up her fork and digging in, looking back and forth from Manuela to the divine looking dish in front of her. 

“So… what’s this for?” She asked. 

Manuela didn’t answer. She plopped herself into the chair across Dorothea, elbows on the table and her chin propped up on her hands. 

“Dot, dear, I’m not going to force you to spill your guts on a Wednesday afternoon, but I am going to nip this little habit you have going in the bud.”

“What habit?” 

“Don’t play dumb, dear. You may be a gifted actress but I seem to recall I trained you.” Manuela sighed, the mirth leaving her eyes. “Have you talked to any of your friends since you came back?”

Dorothea stayed silent for a moment, keeping her eyes on her food as she poked around the eggs with her fork. “I’m… I’m not sure they’d want to hear from me, not yet.”

“I wouldn't be so sure of that. I know that Bernie would love to hear from you, she’s probably been worried. Caspar might be a little much but he can always light up a room. And I saw Hilda not too long ago, and you two always get on like a house on fire.” 

“It’s… too awkward. I’d have to explain everything again and again and then every room’s a pity party and I-” Dorothea grit her teeth and cut herself off, closing her eyes to avoid the look of concern Manuela was almost certainly sending her way. 

She opened them when she felt a hand gently take one of hers, a thumb caressing over her knuckles. Sure enough, Manuela had that look on her face, that expression that hurt to look at. 

“I’m not going to tell you what to do, Dot. But I’ve always found, the times I’ve been in your shoes,” Manuela smiled, a lopsided, bittersweet thing, “that it’s so much better to just rip the band aid off, than to let this fester.”

Dorothea sighed, and then nodded. “Alright, I’ll text Bernie or Hilda or… someone. No promises on jumping back into the big theater parties though.” 

Manuela beamed, giving her hand a gentle pat before the two ate in a comfortable enough silence. 

* * *

Dorothea had intended to follow through on her word. She’d intended to as soon as she’d finished her meal with Manuela and her guardian left for work, and she’d even returned to her room, phone in hand, ready to finally reach out. She’d wanted to ease into conversation again, to have the lively unpredictable twists and turns of Hilda, or the calm meanders of Bernadetta, often veering into and out of seriousness and depth with ease. 

She had intended this to be the case, even entertained the fantasy of normalcy for a moment. Her friends back with her, in Enbarr, just like her college days. 

She’d mention the move and they’d assume and there’d be no awful awkward questions. They’d text for too long until the numbers on the clock chastised them for it. She’d gather up her courage and go out with them, and they’d joke like they used to and laugh like they used to and she wouldn’t feel the lack of _her_ and she wouldn’t miss her laughter and the way she’d gently tuck her hair behind her ear and the way her arm would wrap around Dorothea’s waist and pull her ever so slightly closer and…

It would be normal. Like before. But… different. Haunted. And there was nothing she could exorcise the words she needed to say. The flaky, fickle words that would betray her faster than the tremble of a lip. 

Words that would tell them everything, and had already told them too much in their absence. 

It was infuriating, as Dorothea composed and deleted, typed out and retracted, built and destroyed text after text, to Hilda and Bernadetta both. The former would be blunt, and far more prone to even accidental insensitivity, but the latter _knew_ Edelgard. 

Frustrated with her own indecision, Dorothea snapped up her purse from her nightstand and withdrew a coin. Heads for Bernadetta, tails for Hilda. She tossed it, and it clattered onto her table tails up. 

With a belabored sigh she cast the coin back into her purse, picked her phone back up, and began forcing out a text. 

**_Dorothea:_ **Enbarr still smells like shit huh

She then immediately set the phone back down and made to leave the room, and had just put one phone over the threshold when it vibrated. She walked back, approached the offending object like a bomb about to go off, and snatched it up to read the text. 

**_Hilda:_ **Oh shit look who’s back among the living!!

Dorothea cracked a small smile, hearing Hilda’s sarcastic voice as she read. 

**_Dorothea:_ **I didn’t die?

**_Hilda:_ **Coulda fooled me with how hard you ghosted everybody

She winced at that. It was fair, but still stung, enough to stump her for a response until another text came through. 

**_Hilda:_ **So you’re in Enbarr again huh? 

Cold thorns grew in the pit of her stomach. Hilda played at many things: laziness, unintelligence, shallowness, but each and every one was a carefully constructed fabrication. Hilda put 2 and 2 together and she did it fast. 

**_Dorothea:_ **Sure am

That was enough, she thought. Better unspoken. 

**_Hilda:_ **So should we take a trip to the crimson flower or..?

That brought a wide grin to her face. Of course Hilda would suggest going to a gay bar in the face of the breakup. Part of her even wanted to say yes, but her better half took hold as she typed back. 

**_Dorothea:_ **Maybe a few notches down from that

**_Hilda:_ **Oh shit I know just the place then!

The two talked details for a while longer. It wasn’t too much more than small talk, and a certain pristine woman still shadowed the conversation, but it was surprisingly comfortable. Like sliding into an old shirt and finding it still fit, even if it was threadbare in places and torn in others. All it needed was a needle, some thread, and a little effort.

* * *

Ingrid scraped her face with washcloth until her skin glowed red and angry. She’d forgotten _again_ to pick up those damn wipes to take her makeup off properly, and Felix would be furious if she kept stealing his. 

Nevertheless, it _had_ to come off. She couldn’t articulate what possessed her, but the second she got a proper look at her face in the mirror, she moved in a frenzy to return it to its natural state. 

She was rewarded with a reddened and irritated visage, but at least one that looked nothing like _Ms. Galatea._

She shuddered, practically hearing her bosses condescending tone speaking her title. _You should have had the final draft done by today, Ms. Galatea. You should be prepared for moving deadlines in this job, Ms. Galatea._

Next came the small army of hairpins that kept her blonde locks looking somewhat professional, all ripped out with a little too much vigor out of spite and impatience, and set in a small glass bowl on the counter by the sink. When they were finally all out, she ran a hand through her hair until the soreness in her scalp abated somewhat, and again looked on at her reflection. 

Her hair was, predictably, a mess. Wisps sticking every which way and strands stuck into odd patterns from hours of captivity. Under that, bloodshot jade eyes stared back at her, framed by lashes still stick together with mascara she’d missed. Her face stayed red, dusted with flakes of dead skin. Her lips were chapped, with lipstick stuck in their crevices and on her teeth. 

Ingrid closed her eyes and took a deep breath. This was all part of the ritual, just the stress of the work day slowly slipping out of her. 

Then someone knocked on the bathroom door and all that tension immediately returned. 

“Ingrid! Stop hogging the bathroom!” A particularly whiny called out. Ingrid groaned, set her things aside, and opened the door. 

Predictably, there was the more annoying of her two roommates, Sylvain, standing on the other side. He leaned against the doorframe, arms folded, with his wild red hair in its usual frenzy and his perpetual cocksure grin affixed to his face. He raised an eyebrow upon seeing her. 

“What happened to your-” he gestured to her face, “Situation there pal?”

Ingrid huffed. “Forgot to buy my own makeup wipes again, and our washcloths are sandpaper.” 

“Why didn’t you just steal Felix’s? I do it all the time when I get dolled up,” Then he held a hand to his cheek and whispered, “Plus, that little pout he does when he gets all angry is adorable.” 

Ingrid rolled her eyes and pushed him aside, “You say that cause you’re not the one he yells at when he’s pissed off.” 

Sylvain smirked and stepped back, leaning toward the hall leading to the living room, “Hey Felix!” He called out. 

A voice called back, decidedly less enthusiastically. “What?”

“When was the last time you yelled at me?” 

A faint groan sounded from the living room, “Right now. Fuckoff.” 

Sylvain smiled and turned back to Ingrid, “See?” 

Ingrid only rolled her eyes and walked past him, popping into her room for a spell to throw on the baggiest shirt she could find that didn’t stink of gym sweat and a pair of loose fitting shorts. For a moment the phantom grip of her work clothes wound itself around her, like hands seizing at her sides. 

It was a long day. A shitty, annoying, long day. Like every other day where she had to sit and smile and be pretty while a 60 something Faerghian chided her every action. 

It didn’t matter now though, the week wasn’t over and there was no point feeling exhausted on a Thursday when there was a perfectly good Friday to waste later. 

She gave herself a moment more, just to breathe, before she left her room. She walked into the living room where Felix sat on their sofa with a blanket around his shoulders and a computer on his lap, with his scowl lit by the pale light of its screen. Neither of them acknowledged each other as she passed him and entered the kitchen. 

She checked the fridge, and sighed when she realized there weren’t any leftovers to cobble into something lazy but edible. Takeout wasn’t an option either; she’d sworn off the stuff after it’d been all they ate for the whole month of their long, exhausting move. That left making something, so she surveyed what they had in the refrigerator and their cupboards. Eventually her gaze landed on one some of Felix’s pretentious cheeses. 

She turned to look at her surly roommate, who still had his nose buried in his laptop. He was likely either watching a lecture or doing homework, so she surmised he’d be too tired to complain either way. She turned back, grabbed the cheeses, and set them on the counter, then pulled out a pot and a pan, filling the former with water and placing a pat of butter in the latter. Then, after a flicking of knobs into proper positions and a scramble through their utensils drawer she began poking the butter with a small whisk, watching it melt. 

She’d just started stirring in the flour when she heard Sylvain come in behind her. His hair was drawn up into a damp bun and he wore only a pair of sweatpants, causing Ingrid to groan in annoyance at the sight. 

“Why aren’t you wearing a shirt?” She asked halfheartedly before turning her attention back to the pan. 

“Don’t slutshame me.” He replied, coming up beside Ingrid and leaning on the counter by the stove. “Need any help with anything?” 

Ingrid fixed him with a look, suspicious, but his face seemed earnest. “Sure… you can cut up the cheese there into meltable pieces, and halve the cherry tomatoes while you’re at it.” She then called out to the living room, “You can help too Felix.” 

He huffed, “No thanks. I’m not going in there until Captain Fuckboy puts some clothes on.” 

“Excuse you?” Sylvain gasped in faux offense. “What did I just say about the slutshaming?” 

He shook his head as he grabbed a knife from a drawer and a cutting board from below the counter. For a short while, their banter faded into the background noise of the kitchen. To the quiet snap of vegetables being cut, the gentle thud of knife against wood, the faint sizzling of the bechamel, and the light scrape of the whisk against the pan. 

Theirs was a quaint little orchestra, not routine, but familiar. In its little tune, Ingrid found herself finally letting loose her workday tension. 

The kitchen’s rhythm was broken when Sylvain set his knife aside and placed the cutting board on the patch of counter closest to the burner the pan sat on. The tomatoes and bits of cheese were both collected into their own little piles, even with the individual cheeses in their own separate neat mounds, cut into uniform triangles. 

He gestured to the pan, “Want me to take that for a bit?” 

“ _Sure._ ” Ingrid drew out the word and fixed him with that look again, eyes narrowed. She reached into the cupboard above the stove and retrieved a box of macaroni, dumping it into the now boiling water with a satisfying _rush_ of pasta. A few stirs later to keep them from sticking, she turned back to Sylvain.

“Why are you being nice?”

He looked back and raised an eyebrow, “I’m always nice.” 

Ingrid laughed aloud, she couldn’t help herself. “Sure, okay. What do you want Sylvain?” 

“Probably wants you to keep another ex from castrating him.” Felix said. 

“I do not! I haven’t even gotten out that much since the move.” Sylvain groaned. “I was just gonna ask our dear Ingrid to actually leave the house for once, for something that isn’t work!” He quickly added when Ingrid opened her mouth to protest. 

It was true, between the rushed move, her hasty job hunt, and the constant flurry of nonsense the office threw her way, there wasn’t time to go out and do much. But Ingrid never did much, she had her two best friends with her, as challenging as they often were, and she wasn’t the type to party like Sylvain.

However, Sylvain’s unusually sincere tone made her curious. 

“What did you have in mind?” She asked, and almost immediately wished to retract the sentence once she saw the wide grin that bloomed on her roommates face. 

“So you know about me and Hilda’s weekly hangouts, the ones you’ve repeatedly refused to come to.” 

“Sylvain-” 

“Shush you said you’d hear me out. Hilda says she’s bringing a new person, and we thought it’d be a great excuse to get you out and about for once.” 

Ingrid tried to come up with a proper excuse not to, she really did, but none came. 

“Fine.” She said. 

Sylvain looked at her in shock, “Really? That’s it? No big protestations or chastising me about my poor work ethic?”

“Yep. I’ll go. As long as you behave.” 

“Well no promises-” He stopped and Ingrid gave him a withering look. “Alright fine.” 

The two then began assembling their meal. The pasta was strained, and then dumped into the saucepan, with Ingrid taking the spoon to stir it together. 

“So… who’s the new person?” She asked. 

Sylvain thought for a moment, “Old friend of Hilda’s. I think she said her name was Dorothea? Here,” He pulled his phone from his pocket, thumbed through it for a moment, and held it out to Ingrid. 

On it was a picture of two women, one she recognized as Hilda with her signature bright pink hair, and next to her a tall brunette with deep green eyes. The two were arm in arm, which was somewhat comical due to their height difference, with the former in casual clothes and the latter in an elaborate dress that Ingrid guessed was a costume of some sort. 

“Is she Mittelfrank?” She asked. 

“I think so,” Sylvain set his phone down as the two began scooping out the pasta into bowls. “I’ve never seen her around but she was apparently a big deal about a year ago.”

“So it’s a networking thing then?” Felix said, having gotten up from his spot on the couch. 

Sylvain ignored his comment, holding out a bowl to him. “I know you won’t take it but the offer to you still stands too, Felix.” 

Felix took the bowl and for a moment, Ingrid saw a strange expression flit across his face, almost warm. She couldn’t quite place it before it was replaced with his usual stony visage however. 

“No thanks.” Was all he said, but even then his voice lacked its usual bite. He turned and left for his room, leaving Ingrid to press Sylvain for the details he always left out of such things. 

“So Cafe Lamine, say… Oh I don’t know Ingrid we don’t usually plan this much! Alright seven-ish! Happy!” 

Ingrid scooped up a big spoonful of their makeshift mac and cheese and smiled wide. 

“Yeah. That’ll do.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow this chapter took way too long! Sorry about that! I'd like to say I'll keep it tighter in future but classes just started up again so we'll see.


End file.
